


everything I do (I do it for you)

by vindicatedtruth (orphan_account)



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: AU, M/M, king!Cook, knight!Archie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 09:30:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9813329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/vindicatedtruth
Summary: When they are both willing to risk their lives for each other like this, there is something more on the line than mere duty.Something worth fighting for.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt on the cookletakink meme:
> 
> "You will have my love forever and ever if you give me fic where Archie takes care of Cook, in whatever way the author wishes. Maybe Cook is sick or sad for whatever reason. Maybe it's post-mission and Cook is still hurting from the separation, even with Archie right there in the same city. Just give me fic with Cook hurting and Archie taking care of him, showing Cook that he can be the strong one, too, that he can _look after Cook_ , too."
> 
> Title taken from and inspired by Bryan Adams' song.

“My Lord,” Sir Archuleta murmurs, the calmness of his tone carefully tinged with alarm.  “You’re hurt.”

King David stumbles and blinks the sudden dizziness out of his eyes, thankful for Archuleta’s quick reflexes in catching him.  He hisses as Archuleta unwittingly aggravates the gash on his arm, and the young knight bites back a curse as he mutters a quick apology.  “My Lord, let me tend to your wound.”

David stares at his knight and the way those exquisite features are now crumpled in worry over him.  He feels his heart thundering beneath his armour at the simultaneous softness and fierceness of that expression, and wonders what it says about him that his senses are more attuned to the way Archuleta’s fingers—starkly pale against his stained chainmail—are curved around his bicep, instead of heeding the throbbing sting of matted blood on his sliced skin.  He straightens his back as he firmly grips the sword by his side and prays his knight doesn’t see the way his hands are trembling.

“The wound is but shallow,” David says, and tries to lighten the mood with a smile.  “I assure you I won’t die from such a measly thing.”   

Something in the knight’s face hardens, and David can almost feel himself internally wilting at that look.  _Let it be known that the only thing the King fears in the land_ , David thinks wryly, _is the wrath of a certain young knight with the most unfairly beautiful iridescent eyes._  

For even though Archuleta may seem delicate and diminutive in stature, that heavy armour camouflages a wiry strength unlike anything David has ever seen—and he has witnessed many battles in his lifetime.  Far, _far_ too many.  Yet despite the endless wars David has defended his kingdom from, he has yet to encounter a soldier in the battlefield who’s more dangerous than his young Captain.  

Archuleta’s deceptively innocent looks are precisely what makes him dangerous, because it fools the enemy into letting down their guard.  The young knight is already resolute when it comes to carrying out his sworn duties, such as protecting the kingdom; the enemy has _vastly_  underestimated the way the Captain of the Royal Knights is completely _unstoppable_ when it comes to protecting his _King._  

Because when David had mistakenly let down _his_ guard and an enemy soldier had found an opening to slash at his arm… Captain Archuleta became absolutely _lethal._

“Had I not followed you when you separated yourself from our ranks, my Lord—completely against our initial plans, if I may add—” Archuleta bites out, making David wince, “I fear what might have happened.  You were completely surrounded by the enemy.”

David sighs.  Archuleta has chosen his words carefully so as not to offend, but David understands the cloaked meaning, nevertheless; in the midst of the battle raging all around them, David had found himself backed into a corner, helplessly trapped, even as he had defiantly raised his sword against a whole _battalion_  of enemy soldiers. Had Archuleta not come leaping into the fray with an enraged battle cry, with the rest of the knights in tow, David is _certain_ he would not have made it out alive.

 _And how stupid that would have been,_ David thinks as he feels his face flush in shame, _leaving an entire kingdom without a ruler to watch over them.  Without a king to protect them._  

David can’t ever admit such a thing to his knight, however, especially not when his primary motivation had been to lead the soldiers _away_ from Archuleta.  For David had quickly divined the enemy’s strategy with the way all the attacks were targeted _toward_ the knight: they intended to kill his young Captain first.  It’s the most basic tactic in any battle—go after the one closest to the King: either his most powerful ally, or his most beloved.

And unfortunately, in young Archuleta’s case… he happens to be _both_ , to David.

Thankfully, the young knight is blissfully unaware of the latter.  The enemy, however, hadn’t been so blind.  They knew _exactly_ who to hunt, in order to get at _him._ In order to make him _weak,_ they had to first destroy what gives him _strength._

In order to weaken his spirit… they had to first destroy his _heart._

And David has silently, determinedly sworn that he will _never_ allow that to happen.  _Over my dead body_ , he remembers thinking as he calmly faced the enemy soldiers charging at him.  He hadn’t planned on dying that afternoon—not when he still had so much to live for, especially _now_ —but he also remembers thinking that it would’ve been worth it to sacrifice himself in order stop the enemy from carrying out their initial plan.

Because as in the game of chess, in order to capture the King, the enemy knew they had to first eliminate his powerful Queen.

 _Except Archuleta isn’t your Queen,_ David blithely reminds himself as he feels the last of his physical strength draining.  _He isn’t_ ** _yours_** _to begin with._  

“My Lord,” Archuleta’s voice softly breaks through his thoughts as he steadily supports David when he begins to buckle in his arms.  “Are you quite certain you’re alright?”

With a start, David realises he has been staring at the young knight for far too long, and he quickly clears his throat as he struggles to steady himself on shaky feet.  “Should I be offended that you have such little faith in the capability of your King, Captain?” David casually quips, and when Archuleta appears to look inexplicably _hurt_ by that, David softens the blow by gently adding: “What, exactly, had you feared?”

For a long moment, Archuleta is quiet as he seems to search for _something_ in David’s face.  Those mesmerising hazel eyes seem to pierce straight through his soul, deeper than any blade, and David feels his cheeks heating at the intensity of such a gaze, wondering what it is his young knight is seeing, what he’s thinking—what he’s  _feeling._  

Finally, he sees Archuleta take a deep breath and, seemingly steeling his resolve, look at him straight in the eye.

“I feared I’ll lose you.”

The words are said straightforwardly, without hesitation or prevarication—with such passion and conviction—that David’s heartbeat quickens at the implications of such a personal admission. 

 _I,_ Archuleta had said, and David’s breath catches.  Not _we_ , for Archuleta had not been speaking on behalf of the knights.  Not even on behalf of the _kingdom._

No… Archuleta had been speaking for _himself._

 _… I feared I’ll lose you._  

David swallows when his young knight steps closer—much, _much_ too close than what is deemed _proper,_ even for a man of his station.  “Forgive my impertinence, my Lord, but with all due respect, you should not have charged against the enemy alone like that,” Archuleta declares, and there— _that_ is the Captain of the Knights speaking, the leader who commands such reverent awe and inspires such profound respect that all the soldiers can’t help but willingly, wholeheartedly _follow._ “From now on, for your own safety, you are not allowed go anywhere without _me_.  Is that understood?” 

Archuleta is visibly _thrumming_ with suppressed emotion, and the fire _burning_ in those hazel eyes sets David’s heart pounding against his ribcage for an entirely different reason.  The adrenaline rush courses through his veins from that familiar fight or flight response he always experiences in battle—except this time, it is not out of fear from an outside enemy. 

This time, his battle is internal, for he is warring against _himself_.  And he is fighting a losing battle to keep himself from taking the one thing he has always, _always_ wanted.

Because his greatest, most powerful, most all-consuming desire _… is standing right in front of him_. 

“Are you giving orders to the _King_?” David demands, channeling his desperation to hide the way he is being profoundly affected by the young knight’s _dangerous proximity_ into righteous _anger_.  Normally, David’s commanding, threatening tone is enough to subdue anyone else, including his knights.  

Archuleta is not just _anyone_ , however.  And David knows that even as the King, he has  _never_ intimidated the Captain.

“It is not the _King_  I am giving orders to!” Archuleta hotly returns.  “I am—!”

And David’s eyes widen when Archuleta makes an aborted movement as he reaches for him.  He sees the way Archuleta catches _himself_ , and senses the way Archuleta’s fingers curl into a shaking fist by the side of his face… where Archuleta has almost, _almost_ touched him.

David’s heart has never beaten so fast in his life.  And he has been through _war_.

“I am _asking_ …” Archuleta’s voice starts to tremble, and at that moment, David is keenly reminded of just how _young_ the Captain is as David sees him suddenly, visibly _deflate._ His hand instead moves to hover over David’s open wound as he whispers: “I am asking the one who is most important to me.” 

David can fight countless battles, one after the other, without being winded.  But with that one revealing statement… David has forgotten how to _breathe._

“So please…” Archuleta begs as he dares to splay his fingers across David’s injured arm.  The sight of that pristine hand being marred with his blood is inexplicably _painful_ to look at, even as it is at the same time darkly _beautiful,_ velvet red against creamy white.

“Please let me fix you…”   

And when Archuleta raises glimmering, beseeching eyes to the King… David knows he is _lost._

“… my Lord.”

 

* * *

 

David did not think it was even possible, but under the warm glow of the lamplight… Archuleta is even more _bewitching_.

The young Captain has removed all of his armour to facilitate better movement as he deftly prepares the supplies he needs.  The heat inside the tent is making beads of sweat trickle down his temple, and he has loosened the ties of his linen undershirt to cool himself as he works.  David valiantly tries not to voraciously stare at the way the flickering shadows seem to lick at Archuleta’s neck like a lover’s questing tongue, nor let his gaze linger at the muscles bunching underneath the shirt’s thin material as it clings to Archuleta’s sweat-soaked chest.  

He had earlier waved off the young knight’s offer to help him out of his own armour, despite his obvious struggle in removing them with an injured arm.  It had been less out of pride than preservation of his own _peace of mind._ Archuleta’s soft, almost shy query of “May I undress you?” had almost been his undoing; he was not about to risk his control being shattered with Archuleta actually _stripping him._  

 _God have mercy,_ David had found himself fervently praying when he forced himself to look away as Archuleta began undressing in front of him.  The young knight, however, seemed completely oblivious to how he was single-handedly destroying the King as he quickly moved to sterilise he materials he was going to use.  Sighing, David had instead occupied himself with ridding himself of his own shirt as he settled on the cot to patiently wait.

Now, with all of his supplies neatly arranged on a tray in his hands, Archuleta turns to face him.  

David blinks at the way Archuleta suddenly hesitates as he stills.  He wonders if the pain is making him hallucinate, but he _swears_ he isn’t imagining the way Archuleta’s gaze is roving up and down his bare torso, or the way Archuleta seems to be flushing with something _more_ than the heat of their surroundings.

“Is something the matter?” he can’t help but curiously ask when Archuleta remains unmoving for several seconds more.

Seemingly startled out of his stupor, Archuleta quickly shakes his head.  “N-No, my Lord,” he stammers as he gingerly seats himself beside the king and shyly looks up at him from beneath his lashes.

It does something unspeakable to David’s heart, seeing this fascinating new side of the young knight, soft and vulnerable in the muted light; all of the Captain’s surety and bravery in the battlefield seem to melt away here in the privacy of the king’s shelter, with them being so… _close,_ like this, intimate and hushed with just the two of them. 

God, but David is hyperaware of the _inches_ between their nearly bare bodies, and he can only _pray_ that he survives this most harrowing ordeal.  

 _It’s just your Captain stitching up your wound_ , David reminds himself as he watches Archuleta set his tray of supplies on the table in front of them.  _You’ve survived worse than this._  

 _Ah,_ says the persistent, traitorous voice of his damning conscience: _but can you survive your heart’s desire being so close, and yet not close enough?_  

David doesn’t have an answer to that.  In truth, he is terrified to find out.

Archuleta has dipped a washcloth into what David can correctly presume is a basin of disinfectant.  The young knight turns to him again, profound apology set deeply into his smooth features.

“My Lord,” says Archuleta softly.  “Forgive me, for I would not have you in pain, if I can help it.”

David feels his heart twist as he finally, wordlessly understands that his Captain is once again blaming _himself_ for failing to protect him, when it is _David_ who has broken their pledge by recklessly charging at the enemy alone, against their initial plan.  “My pain is of no consequence to me.”

Archuleta’s delicate mouth tightens.  “It is to _me._ ”

“Captain,” David says gently, “do not fret so.  I am alive because of you.  And that is why my pain is of no consequence, because I trust in your ability to take it away.”

The words seem to linger in the air in the silence that follows.  Archuleta’s eyes widen, and David inwardly curses himself, wondering if he has already revealed far too much.  

Archuleta’s gaze falls to his hand that is holding the washcloth, and David sees the way his grip tightens.  “I am not sure I am worthy of such trust, my Lord.”

“Nonsense,” says David fiercely.  “I trust you with my life.”  _And so much more, if only you would ask it of me._

The searching look is back in Archuleta’s gaze.  David meets it, determined to not look away this time.  Something finally gentles in the tense expression on the young knight’s face, and he finally moves forward.

“This is going to sting,” Archuleta murmurs in warning before he places the washcloth directly over the wound.

The sensation _burns_ , and David feels as if his skin is on _fire_ , but he manages to not emit a single sound as he merely closes his eyes against the searing pain.  He has already made a fool of himself in front of his young knight by making such a stupid decision in battle.  The least he can do is to bravely endure this pain, and to not let himself appear weak in front of his Captain.

He remains dutifully silent and unmoving as Archuleta takes another washcloth and basin, and begins diligently cleaning the skin surrounding the wound.  He watches as Archuleta uses tweezers to meticulously pick out all the little pieces of debris buried in the wound, and uses surgical scissors to clip away the torn pieces of skin around the laceration.  When he seems finally satisfied with his preparations, Archuleta skilfully threads a needle and begins the careful process of closing the wound by stitching David’s skin back together.

Throughout the entire procedure, David’s attention is so arrested by Archuleta’s hands that the pain is but a distant sensation.  It fascinates him _endlessly_ , to know that the hands that are so capable of such strength and power in fighting can also be infinitely gentle and careful in healing, like this.  Against his will, his traitorous mind wanders as he begins to imagine how the dichotomy of such hands translates to a lover’s touch, and David finds himself _shivering_ at the thought of such a touch on  _him_. 

Thankfully, Archuleta has once again wrongly interpreted his reaction as the young knight murmurs in reassurance: “I’m almost done, my Lord.”  He glances up at the king and smiles softly at him, making David feel like his bones are melting from such an openly admiring gaze.  “And I must commend you for your incredible endurance of such pain.  I am humbled by your bravery and strength.”

 _Pain, I can handle,_ David thinks in despair as he smiles tightly back.  _Your hands on my body like this, I am not sure I have the will to endure any longer._  

At last, Archuleta finishes off with a knot.  He cuts the thread and sets the needle aside, before he moves to place a bandage over the stitched skin as protection and carefully tapes it into place.

“You are a man of many talents, Captain,” David says admiringly, assessing Archuleta’s work as the young knight finally leans back with a sigh of relief and wipes the sweat off his brow.  “Thank you,” says David softly, sincerely. “For saving my life.  For protecting me.  And for healing me.”

For some unknown reason, a cloud seems to pass heavily over the Captain’s previously open gaze, and David blinks in confusion as Archuleta suddenly turns away from him as he quickly gathers his supplies.  He abruptly stands and returns the tray on the working table by the entrance.

David stares at the tense line of Archuleta’s back as he grips the edges of the table tightly, his head bowed to hide the expression on his face.  “Captain,” David says worriedly.  “Did I… have I said something wrong?”

Slowly, Archuleta raises his gaze to meet the king’s.  Amidst the fire of the lamplight, the young knight’s eyes are dark and liquid… and David finds himself _drowning_ in them.

“My Lord,” Archuleta whispers, his voice watery and broken. “Why are you so determined to win this particular war? What—”

And David finally forces himself on his feet when Archuleta turns his head away quickly, but not fast enough to hide the way his eyes traitorously glisten before he scrunches them shut.

“… What can be _possibly_ worth risking your life for, like this?”

David has witnessed the way Archuleta has endured many blows, both in war and in life itself.  Not once has his Captain ever cowered from the rage of enemy soldiers, nor has he ever buckled from the many challenges life has thrown at him.

Dazedly, David walks forward to move closer to his Captain.  Not once, as far as David can remember, has Archuleta _ever_ let down his guard enough to show any sign of weakness.

Except for tonight.  Throughout their entire history together, it’s the first time the King has ever seen his Captain cry.

 _For him._  

Gently, David lays a hand on his Captain’s shaking shoulders.  Startled, Archuleta’s gaze snaps up to meet the king’s, and David smiles softly at the widening of the young knight’s eyes when he realises how _close_ they’re standing together.

He reaches out to cup Archuleta’s face—the way he has always fantasised for many, _many_ nights now—and he feels the young knight shudder beneath his touch as his eyes flutter close.  It’s the first time David has allowed himself to look at his Captain this close, this _intently_ , and for the first time, he notices how breathtakingly long Archuleta’s eyelashes are as the tears stubbornly cling to them like morning dew.  He strokes a callused thumb over the smooth cheekbone of that beautiful face, and he catches the single teardrop that finally escapes.

David knows he is breaching every single rule of protocol there is by touching his Captain so intimately like this.  And he has finally, _finally_ stopped giving a damn.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” David murmurs.  “Your family had travelled a long way just to ask for permission to reside in my kingdom.  I only ever asked you one question before I agreed, and that was for you to tell me the real reason behind what brought you here.”  He brushes his knuckles down the soft expanse of Archuleta’s cheek.  “Your answer had been so simple, and yet so profound.  It struck me deeply, and I had never forgotten it.  I have carried it with me since then.”

Archuleta’s eyes finally open at that, and to David it feels like watching the petals of a young bud finally unfurl and bloom.  “You… remember what I said?”

Feeling as if his heart is about to burst out of his chest, his other hand moves to cradle the opposite side of Archuleta’s face as David touches him more fully, more daringly.

 _Oh my dearest love_ , David thinks, finally unafraid to call him that in the sanctity of his thoughts, as he at long last acknowledges how the truth of it has never rang as loudly in his heart as it does at this moment.  _I remember_ ** _everything_** _you’ve ever said.  Everything you’ve ever done.  Every crease of your expression, every lilt of your voice, every firm grip of your fingers.  Every fighting stance, every battle cry, every movement so swift and fluid like a powerful dance flowing through water.  Every song you’ve ever sang during the nights of patrol, every laughter you’ve ever shared with our shield brothers, every smile you’ve ever deigned to grant me across the dying embers of the campfire.  Every curve of your lips, every shine of your eyes, every breath you take._ ** _Everything_** _._  

“I remember your answer as clearly as if it was just yesterday,” says David softly.  “You told me… that you were looking for a place to belong.”

Archuleta reaches both of his hands up to curl his fingers around David’s wrists—another breach of protocol that neither of them acknowledges and neither of them  _cares_ about anymore—and David knows that the young knight must now be feeling how fast his pulse is galloping.  “I was looking…” Archuleta breathes, “for a place to call _home_.”

David swallows, feeling his throat constrict with emotion.  “And that is what I’m fighting for,” he whispers.

He leans down to touch his forehead to Archuleta’s as the young knight tightens his grip around him.  “I am aware, regretfully, that my kingdom is not safe at the moment, not with so many enemies from neighbouring lands threatening to disturb our peace like this.  And I know that with all this bloodshed, this is not the kind of home you had imagined for your family.  For _yourself_.”

He catches Archuleta’s hands in his and threads their fingers together.  “I do not want you seeking another land,” he passionately declares.  “I want… I want you _here_.”

Slowly, he lifts their joined hands and brushes his lips tenderly over Archuleta’s knuckles, and hears the soft whimper that escapes the young knight’s throat.

“ _This_  is what I’m fighting for,” he says emphatically.  “I want my kingdom… to be your _home_.”

He senses the way his Captain is gently pushing against his lips, and feeling himself shudder at the sensation, he very carefully presses a chaste kiss to each of Archuleta’s fingertips.

“Until then,” he murmurs as his thumbs stroke the insides of Archuleta’s wrists, basking in the awestruck wonder in the young knight’s gaze.  “I am ready to lay everything on the line for this fight.  I am ready to endure anything and everything for the sake of a kingdom that will finally be safe, for you.  A kingdom… for you to rightly call _home_.”

His breath catches when Archuleta suddenly surges forward, twisting out of the king’s grip as he mimics David’s earlier gesture and cups his face between both hands.

“ _Why_?” Archuleta asks, the expression on his face equal parts vulnerable, fearful, and _hopeful._ “Why is it so important for you to make your kingdom a home, for me?”

David’s vision begins to blur with the strength of the emotion coursing through his entire being as he shakily reaches out to grasp that beloved face once more.  His heart _swells_  at how they are now mirror images, cradling each other carefully— _lovingly._

“Because,” he answers with the absolute truth of his heart: “When the time comes that I have finally made this land the rightful home you deserve, it is then, and _only_  then, that I believe I will finally be worthy to ask you…”

He leans down to whisper his promise—his most secret, most fervent desire.

“… to rule this kingdom with me.”

He feels the young knight’s warm gust of breath as he softly gasps.  “My Lord…”

The King closes his eyes and smiles—a little sadly—as he murmurs an entreaty.  “… _David_.”  He feels Archuleta still beneath his hands, and he braces himself for the worst, even as he can’t stop the words from escaping him now.  “When that time comes, please… call me ‘David’.”

After denying its yearning for so damn long, he has now bared his whole heart to the one person who can possibly hurt him the most.  He doesn’t know what to expect now from his Captain—his comrade, his friend, his _love—_ but he is ready for it, for the thorough breaking of his heart.  

What he _hasn’t_ been ready for, however, is to feel Archuleta’s hands suddenly grasp him by his nape to pull him swiftly down.  Startled, the King’s eyes fly open in time to see the young knight turn his face upward to murmur fiercely against his lips:

 _“I would much rather call you_ **_mine_** _.”_

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
